Fucked up

So once again after promising I wouldn't, I went and got fucked up. Drank a good amount, smoked too much. Of course for a few hours I'm on top of the world, hella free and gone. Then when I crash though all I want is more. I want it to stop. I wish then I hadn't smoked another bowl or done another shot. Then I wake up, the smell of pot reeks in my mouth everytime I swallow. I taste it. I feel it. Then I must do through the akward confessions and attempt to explain why I did what I did. Why did you go there anyway? Why didn't you call me? Didn't you say you were done doing that shit? I give long answers that if someone actually listened to and analyzed, they would realize they don't mean shit. Yet they are enough to get forgiveness back. But then I think, why did I do it? I think it's because with a suicidal family and pressure from all four corners, it gives me that freedom. I mean, like i mentioned before, I am free when I'm gone. Now worries, no pressures. I'm flying, surfing a cloud, melting into the surface of what is binding. I'll take the pain to get high again. It's worth it. I promised I wouldn;t do it again though. I wonder how long I will hold that. Or how long I can do it before anyone finds out.